


The Pilgrimage

by Kassyndra



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Falling Out of Love, Friendship/Love, M/M, Redemption, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21768115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kassyndra/pseuds/Kassyndra
Summary: For his heinous crime, Hans was effectively removed from the kingdom of Southern Isles. He drifted toward the familiar land of cold, and met a familiar rugged ice carver. Together, they traveled further north, to the dark, undiscovered part of the great, snowy mountain. The part where magic was raw and primordial.What were they looking for?
Relationships: Hans/Kristoff (Disney), Past Anna/Kristoff - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Suicidal Thoughts.

“Are you aware of the damage that you had done.”

Hans’s eyes were fixated on the carpeted marble floor. His ears heard clearly his father’s voice. Deep, slow, and devoid of any questioning intent.

For many years he could no longer bother to count, he was practically demoted to below the class of peasants’. He was forced to live in an old shack by an unknown, distant stable. Each day consisted of him lying on a dirty rag until almost noon, contemplating his sorry state and, if the day was slow, all of his past mistakes. Then he would tend to those horses, then the stable, scooping loads and loads of waste, then the People From the Castle would come to inspect his work. If it was good enough, he might get a bowl of pea soup with stale bread, or sticks of dried sardines. However, what he often got was mushy, boiled potatoes that were tasteless and cold.

Or nothing at all, if they did not feel like it. And Hans had, slowly but surely, grasped the concept of cruelty. Wickedness. Evil-of-heart. The thing of sort that has many names. And he must admit that it was what he once intended to inflict on another innocent, undeserved person. On a princess. On a queen.

On esteemed women, in positions of powers, of a kingdom his father was working on establishing an alliance with.

And so, commenced a punishment fit for the crime.

He had long given up the thought of returning to the castle. Hell, he did not dare even to set his sight on its tower. He had resigned to his current life, as a horsekeeper, or a waste-sweeper. The former has a nicer ring to it, though.

When the People From the Castle announced to him that he had been summoned by his father, he could not help but raise his eyebrows in confusion. Nonetheless, he obeyed the call, and, after a brief cleaning session and a new outfit on, he was ushered to the familiar room. The Meeting Chamber was its name, and a ten feet stone table was still on its usual place. The floor was still that spotless marble, and the carpet still deep maroon.

However, unlike the usual view of no-less-than-twenty people seated around the table, loudly debating and consulting with each other, there was only his father at the other end, before a large portrait of his family. His eyes, fixated on his thirteenth son, were cold and sharp.

Hans felt small and suffocated.

Then his father said to him, deep, slow, and devoid of any questioning intent.

“Are you aware of the damage that you had done.”

* * *

He was not aware of Anna’s coronation. Apparently, her being in power and spotlight had made his infamy resurfaced. Of course, people who inquired about Queen Anna would soon find out about her Brief Cold Death, and the betrayal that led to it. They would learn about a once-unknown prince who almost single-handedly ended the Arendelle’s bloodline. Eventually, his name would be synonymous with a filthy, greedy opportunist. A liar. A slit-tongued con-man.

And it would be synonymous with the Southern Isles, too.

He learned, from his father, how his action had ruined the reputation of the kingdom. Whispers on the dock, warning not to trust the people from this place. Trades steadily plummeted. Kingdoms expressed their doubt on the alliance. Some even considered revoking their signed pact. A greed for power from one, unimportant man had shaken the kingdom to the very foundation. In a twisted irony, Hans had become important, like he had always wished. He had become a notorious criminal. He had become a powerful poison that was slowly killing the Southern Isles.

And so, his father had revised a sentence for him. A pilgrimage, for Hans to reflect on his sins.

“Maybe one day, when that crime no longer trails after your name, then you may return.”

Hans would have preferred a quick execution. This pilgrimage that his father had proposed sounded like an elaborated exile. His crime? It would forever be remembered. He would always be Hans the Usurper. His father basically ordered him to be removed from the Kingdom, and Hans was sure that he would have his portraits burned, his name scrubbed off from all recording. Hans would no longer exist in the Southern Isles. He would, at most, be a whisper among the merchants. A tale about a sullen, traitor prince, forever lost on his pilgrimage. Then they, too, would forget about him.

When he was ushered out of the room, his mind was blank. He could feel a dried trail of tears on his hollow cheeks. He wanted to thrash and scream, but his limbs were numb, and his throat closed.

He was led to a small boat, fit for no more than three people. He heard himself asking about it, and someone told him about how no one would want to spend any more copper coins on him. That having to provide this boat for him was a waste of a good, functional boat. And that nobody would miss him, for his name carried with it an atrocity. He refused to listen to anything after that, and barely registered himself being seated on a boat. A wool rug that was thrown onto him. There was a slight shift in the weight of the ship when a bag was put on the boat. Then, unceremoniously, the ship was kicked away, and slowly drifted into the sea.

The boat was well into a vast unknown of the sea when Hans curled himself, his throat finally opened, and a sorrowful cry came out, voice and all.

\---

Hans did not know how long the time had passed. The bag that was dropped on his boat had some food in them, but he had barely touched anything. His mind was resigned to the inevitable that could not come sooner, but his body somehow refused to give up. The sea was also calm, its wave small and steady, rocking his boat forward without threatening to overturn it.

As resigned as his mind was, it was not enough to drive him to throw himself in the water. It would be a lot easier if a storm just came, and a huge wave would swallow everything into the deep dark below. That way, he would be able to blame his death on the raging sea.

It was like everything wanted to keep him alive.

A wave passed by, and the air slowly became chilly. Hans slowly reached for the wool rug, and wrapped it around himself. All done instinctively. The rug barely kept him warm, but he did not really care.

Another wave.

Another wave.

Another wave.

Hans closed his eyes. Hoping that he would not have to open it again.


	2. Chapter 2

It was autumn, early morning.

Kristoff, alone, in his familiar leather-and-fur attire, trudged along the shoreline of Arendelle. Strapped to him was a bag of his necessities. On his face was his scarf pulled up for warmth. Beyond him, a thin fog had long consumed the scenery, turning the distant view into a blurry silhouette. A rush of cold wind blew from the sea, bringing with it a chilling, salty sensation. Now was truly not the best time for a walk on the beach, he thoughts. Not that it mattered to him much, as he preferred being outdoors, even in this particular situation, than spending another day in the castle. Too many people. Too close to her. Too distant to her.

Kristoff took a deep breath, savoring all the briny smell and fresh air. He looked at a compass in his hand. It wavered a bit, but he was heading north alright.

He proposed to Anna maybe a little over a year ago. Not long before she was coronated. Their marriage was postponed, as Anna shifted her focus to her duty as a queen. He did not object, nor did he complain. His love was not fragile, he had proclaimed, and so he remained by her side, providing any support should she ask.

Thing was, she rarely asked. And Kristoff would often find himself wandering the castle ground, looking for any menial task as he did not want to just idling around. He would often lend his hand to the royal stable. Sometimes he would find himself in the royal kitchen, chopping up vegetables and carving meats. There were times he was out hunting with the royal hunters. Still, none of these were significant, and he more than often would doubt his importance in the court.

There were whispers, too. Not many people, especially those attending the court, liked to see their queen having a close companion as a glorified servant. They were careful not to speak in his presence, but he had befriended many of the castle attendants, and they would tell him of what those upper class had to say about him. Maybe they were angry for him, or maybe it was pity. Either way, it was inevitable for him to know about those opinions, and it did not help raising his confidence in the slightest. 

Anna did not know, because Kristoff had never told her.

Neither did Sven. He had found his spot as Anna’s favourite mount. Olaf was also there to provide him with companionship. Seeing Olaf playing with Sven, and him munching on Anna’s treat, made Kristoff aware of something. Sven was happy, and he fit in perfectly there. Kristoff did not want to ruin the happiness his friend had, and so he kept his worry from the reindeer, too.

He eventually found himself more lonely than ever, which was strange, considering that he used to live isolated from humans. He thought that the growing relationship he had with Anna was the best thing that had ever happened to him, but he had never considered the consequences.

Like a glacier, his love was not fragile, but over time it could be eroded.

Lately, he had taken up a habit of wandering into wilderness. It was for cartography, he told Anna. She never questioned him, only wished him safety and to not forget his supplies. She would then return to her paperworks and important conversations, and he would silently leave the room. He would then check on Sven, often finding him by Olaf’s side as the snowman was telling him about some wild, imaginary adventure. After that, he would go on his journey, and would not return for days. Anna would be worried, of course, but her worry had lessened over time.

“You always come back,” she would simply say to him as she helped him remove his cloak. He loved that she trusted him enough, but his selfish side could not help but wanted to see more of her worry, that she would rushed to him and maybe berate him a bit about being careful out there, or that she would reminded him that out there was magical and dangerous, and attempted to stop him from going altogether. He secretly, desperately craved for her attention, and it irked him how he had reached the point this low.

Two days ago, he told her of his journey along the west shore up north. Anna bid him a quick farewell and gave him a tad too short of a blessing, and immediately returned to her yet another important conversation.

She was a good queen. Arendelle was in a right hand indeed.

Kristoff could see a vague shape up ahead. A boat perhaps? He was surprised, as this area was scarce of human population (He met a family of fisherman a day ago, and they were as surprised when they saw him). Kristoff lifted his lamp and headed toward the silhouette. If it was indeed a boat, maybe he would find another fisherman. Stockpiling fish oil was not a bad idea, after all.

Once he was a bit closer, he could see that the boat was not tied to anything, as if the owner just left it at the mercy of saltwater waves. A strange practice indeed, but what would he know. He was a mountain man, not a sailor. Maybe it was common in this area to leave the boat to its own devices.

Then he reached the boat, and found that it was most likely not a fisherman’s, as there was no fishing equipment in there, only a thin, sickly man, lying still like a corpse, wrapped in a dirty rug. His skin was flaking due to the dry cold. A small puff from his nose was the only thing that indicated that he was still alive.

Kristoff inspected the man closer, and furrowed his brows.

In his life he could remember a handful of people, being so long isolated from the major population himself. Still, he could not forget the deep auburn hair this man had, and that sideburns that were framing the face that Anna punched so satisfyingly years ago.

Why was prince Hans of the Southern Isles stranded here, on Arendelle’s shore?

* * *

Hans felt a tingling heat of nearby fire. It was truly something he would not expect given his circumstance. The warm comfort slowly roused him awake. As he turned his body around, all fibers of his muscles protested. The ache made him want to groan aloud, but he could feel that his throat had gone dry for some time, so he managed to only let out a dry wheeze.

“Awake?” an unfamiliar voice asked him. A man.

Hans pushed himself up with much difficulty and tried to look at the stranger. From what he could see through his bleariness, the man was huge. His shoulder was broad despite his crouched posture. His hair was dark blond and unkempt. His face was nothing remarkable for Hans, except maybe his rather large nose and full cheek. Hans could imagine this man to be a jovial type, but he was exuding a certain kind of weariness. In the man’s large hands was a seemingly empty steel cup. A rather large bag was resting by his feet. Hans could smell a faint hint of alcohol. 

Hans tried to speak, but his throat was too hurt. He swallowed his nonexistent saliva and rubbed his throat. It did not help at all, but who was Hans to complain.

The mysterious man sighed. He searched for something in his bag, pulled out a flask and handed it to the prince. Hans took a sip. A plain water had never tasted so delicious like this for him, so he drank it some more. He would have taken a swig, but was too polite (and afraid that he would anger another man) to do so.

Hans handed the flask back to the man. He found his voice at last, albeit with some difficulty. “Thank you.”

The man did not answer him. He silently put the flask beg in his bag, then looked back at Hans. His eyes were cautious, as if the prince was some kind of mountain beast, not the weak man that could barely talk. Hans was worried. Surely this man would not harm him, would he?

“I know who you are,” the man spoke. Hans was startled. “Hans of the Southern Isles, right? You have quite a reputation here.”

Hans was lost for words. His mouth was agape. How could this be? Was left to die in the sea, only to be swept to the shore of Arendelle. He found his hand and struggled to get away from the man. This, in turn, startled the man. He stood up and walked toward Hans, which drove the prince even more fearful.

“Wait! Look, I won’t hurt you,” the man said, “Get back near the fire, it’s autumn and freezing out there.”

Hans calmed down somewhat, but refused to look at the man. The man sighed, and went back to his spot. After some time, Hans slowly crawled back to the fire. Once he found his spot, he gathered his knees in his arms. The man looked up at him, no longer on guard. He was more concerned for the prince. He remembered Hans to be more confident and smug, not a nervous wreck this Hans was.

“Say,” The man spoke, “why are you here? On that boat?”

Hans heard, and his memory came flooding back. His evil. His downfall. His sentence. All came rushing through his mind in a blur of colors and misery. Hans was reminded by them that he was now nothing but a pathetic pile of flesh wrapped in clothes too thin, ready to die here in a cold land that he once tried to claim. A poetic justice, indeed. Hans hugged his knees even tighter, as if trying to form a shell to protect him from his memories given physical form. It hurts to admit that he deserves all of this. 

‘I should just die here,’ Hans thought. He felt a lump on his throat, but was too weak to let it out. 

The man seemed to notice his grim mood, and must have felt a bit guilty. He averted his eyes from the prince, and tried to busy himself checking his supply. He could pretend to do that not for long, before standing up and sitting down next to the prince. Hans made no attempt to move away. 

Quite a long time passed in silence. The man just sat there next to him, almost saying something, but halted his mouth from opening every time. Eventually, Hans’ memories subsided, and his mind settled in a miserable kind of calm, like the feeling back then, when he was on the ship back home from Arendelle, readying himself to face his father and had him know about what the prince had done.

“I was put on that boat,” Hans finally said, eyes fixated on the fire. “They - He doesn’t want me there. I have tarnished the name of the kingdom.” Hans let out a weak chuckle, “He’s not wrong. Everything is my fault.”

Hans turned to the man. He was looking at the fire his brows furrowed. Hans said to him, “You know me. you know what I did.”

After some time, the man replied, “I know.”

Hans turned his gaze back to the fire. “Do you - Do you think I should be here?”

The question was heavy with many things. ‘Don’t you think it’s funny that I end up here, of all places?’ ‘Do you welcome me to this land, despite everything that I have done?’ ‘Would you prefer it if we just bid farewell here, and continue on our ways?’

‘Do you think I should be alive at all?’

The man did not answer. Hans did not expect him to.

They were silent again. Hans watched the fire dance and flicker. It had dimmed quite a lot. Someone should put some firewood in it. It was getting colder, too, and Hans pulled a wool rug up and tried to wrap it around himself.

“That won’t do a thing,” the man said. He removed his fur cloak and put it around the prince. “Keep this on.”

“Wait, no! What about you?” Hans protested, “I will - I mean, I can manage. There’s a fire.”

“I grew up on the mountain. The cold never bothers me,” the man gave him a thin smile, “I will go gather some firewood. Have some more rest.” He quickly stood up and walked to his bag before Hans could protest about the cloak again. After finding his trusty knife, he went in the bag again and took out his flask.

“You can drink if you want. Your voice is hoarse,” the man said, handing Hans the flask.

“I - Um…” Out of word, and with the man shaking his flask in affirmation, Hans gingerly accepted it. “You are too kind, mister?”

“Kristoff. Kristoff of Arendelle.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got quite carried away, but as many people said, as I paraphrased here: Characters write story by themselves. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Kristoff returned to the campfire when the forest was moonlit. Despite the encompassing darkness, he could remember the way back well. Of course, that dim orange light did help. So did the bright moon of this night. Still, he was also a skilled forager! Of course he could find the way back.

Heh, of course he always came back.

Kristoff carefully added firewood (hard, dry and brittle, as they should be) he had gathered, trying not to disturb the ongoing small flame. He blew into it a few times, and the campfire lit up, reinvigorated and warm. Kristoff looked at the man on the other side of the fire. Hans was asleep again. Had he eaten anything? Then, he should ask the prince as soon as possible. Kristoff did not expect Hans to be left to die at sea, sentenced by his own father nonetheless. Of course, his character those years ago was a reprehensible one. And Anna and Elsa could have died by the doing of this man alone. Still, when he saw how the villain of the story was reduced to this frail, depressed man, he could not help but spare the prince a bit of sympathy.

Had he left Hans to die, then he would not be different from the past Hans. So he gave the prince his cloak and kept the fire alight. What he would do next, he did not know. But if the man needed food, Kristoff would give some to him. He always packed more than however much he needed anyway. Then what? Maybe brought the prince back to that fisherman’s hut? To be honest, Kristoff would prefer not to backtrack all the way back there, but if the prince saw it fit, then he would oblige, and they would part, each on their own.

Kristoff saw Hans’ eyebrows furrowed a bit despite his deep slumber. The prince wrapped the fur cloak even tighter around himself. Kristoff suddenly wondered about how the prince was growing up. Anna mentioned something in passing that Hans was the youngest of the siblings. How many siblings, Kristoff did not care to remember. But the youngest would usually be spoiled, no? Well, things might be different down there at the Southern Isles. Hans must have been very unhappy for a while, with enough bitterness and resentment that fermented a rotten ambition he had. Kristoff was raised by the trolls, and he was proud to say that they were good parents. He grew up surrounded by warmth and love, and it must not be so for Hans.

He was, ultimately, a pitiful, unloved man, Kristoff concluded. And now he was alone.

Well, not quite alone in the current situation. And Kristoff now felt kind of bad for the prince. Is this what always happened when you were left to contemplate things alone, without any disturbance? Normally Sven would be the distraction, and Kristoff could just ramble to the reindeer. Here, he got nothing but a grimacing, sleeping prince who was currently the subject of his contemplation. Anna would call him out if she knew he was quite sympathetic with the prince, with their history and all. No, Anna would not. It had been years, and she had a lot on her hands right now.

And his thought drifted back to her, and his selfish reason of travelling this far into the wilderness. He should try to sleep now. He had to wake up early tomorrow.

* * *

_ “Are you aware of the damage that you had done.” _

_ Hans’s eyes were fixated on the carpeted marble floor. His ears heard clearly his father’s voice. Deep, slow, and devoid of any questioning intent. _

_ “Never before in our history has our name fallen under such infamy. The Southern Isles has been long proud of our trader heritage. Our alliances are born from peace, and I intend to keep it that way.” _

_ Hans was well aware of the history. The Southern Isles is rich with resources. Fruits. Spices. Olive oil. Fish. Those, and the fact that the kingdom was located not too far from the mainland, and conveniently faced the open sea, it was not hard to establish the kingdom as an ideal place for trades. Some kingdoms found their power through war, but the Southern Isles had its foundation built on gold and goods. _

_ “What you had done was unforgivable, by the law, by the church, and by my ideals.” _

_ He had been told by the People From the Castle (the nicer ones, he supposed) that, while the kingdom was still popular as a place of trades, his crime had made a noticeable impact on the number of merchants and seafarers, and the people from here were met with a colder reception. As if everyone suddenly saw how powerful the Southern Isles was, and how its people were somehow hiding this greedy (and possibly murderous) side. Many diplomats came to his father, implied to be seeking other trade routes, and the famed citrus that his kingdom exported saw its drop in sale, as if people suddenly did not like the fruit anymore. _

_ “As the king, I must put you through punishment that I see fit. So I send you to work on a stable, and hope that it will make you realize what you did wrong.” _

_ Hans dared not to move his eyes from the ground. The room was large and well-lit, but it was so suffocating for him. _

_ “But the people. They are angry, my son. They demand that something absolute must be done. They call for a blade on your neck. I would say that they do not find you redeemable by any means.” _

_ ‘Just say they hate me,’ was what Hans thought. He had a small respect for his father in his attempt to find the most indirect way to say the sentence, but it did not help make him feel better about the subject. _

_ “Now, as a father, it would break my heart to do so. But something must be done. Something to show the people that justice has been served. A punishment that truly fits the crime.” _

_ Hans could not bear to listen anymore. He was aware that the scene had happened days ago, but this all felt so real, as if he physically went through it again. _

_ “Therefore, with a heavy heart, I must sentence you to go on a pilgrimage. A journey to find that light within you. A journey that could help you realize and cleanse your sins.” _

_ Hans could smell the raw salt of the sea. _

_ “Maybe one day, when that crime no longer trails after your name, then you may return.”  _

_ His eyes were blurry with tears. Was it his tears of sadness? anger? Fear? His mind raced frantically, yet numb and thoughtless. There were two guards that came to him and escorted him out of the room. His father looked at him the whole way with a heavy, unwavering gaze. Was there a slight sadness in there? Or was it his hallucination? Hans did not know. He never got a chance to ask. _

_ They went down a flight of stairs. A plain door quickly approached them. Hans knew where this leads to. He knew it very well. _

* * *

“Hans?” Hans heard a voice. He opened his eyes and found before him Kristoff, looking at him with concern. One hand on the prince’s shoulder, possibly just trying to shake him awake for a while. “You alright?” Kristoff asked.

“I’m fine. Just… had a nightmare. It’s nothing to worry about.” Hans answered as he got himself up. He found Kristoff's cloak still wrapped around him, and immediately took it off. “I-I’m sorry for keeping this all night long. Are you cold? I’m terribly sorry.” He hastily folded the cloak. “Here, please take it back.”

“I told you the cold never bothered me,” Kristoff waved his hand. “Keep it. It seems like you will be here for a while, and it’s cold.”

Hans looked down, embarrassed. He slowly unfolded the cloak and draped it around himself. “I am grateful, Kristoff. Is it okay if I call you that? You never gave me your last name.”

Kristoff nodded. “It’s Bjorgman, but just Kristoff is okay. I don’t care about that kind of practice anyway.”

Seeing that the prince was relatively fine, Kristoff went to grab his bag. He wanted to ask the prince about why he was shaking and crying in his sleep. Most people did not do that. But it, ultimately, was not his business. And he reckoned that Hans would not tell him anyway. It does worry him, though. The prince went through something heavy, and Kristoff would be glad if he could help him in any way, despite all the things he had done.

Compassion. This might be both his strength and his weakness.

Grand Pabbie told him that only a few people were truly irredeemable, and that most had this knot in their heart that, should it be undone, would reveal innocence within, innocence that they were born with.

He said that Kristoff did not have that knot, and that he was proud that the man grew up well, still with that pure and innocent joy in his heart.

Oh, how he was wrong.

Kristoff shook those thoughts away. “I was thinking,” he turned to Hans, who was sitting as close as possible to the dying campfire, looking at him with eyes a tad too wide. “There was a fisherman’s hut way back. I could bring you there if you want. They don’t have much but I think they don’t mind taking you in.”

Hans looked contemplative. Kristoff added, “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just think it would be best for you.”

Hans did not answer right away. He looked down at the fire, chewing his lower lip. It took quite longer than Kristoff anticipated, and he was growing concerned. After a brief eternity, the prince looked at him and said, “No. I must thank you. But I don’t think I would like to.”

Kristoff’s mouth was agape. He did not expect that his offer would be declined. “Why?” He asked.

“I am not sure if the other will be as accommodating as you, and I am aware of my reputation in this region,” Hans’ gaze drifted back to the fire. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t feel safe here? But with you, though, that’s different. Somehow.” Hans averted his eyes, “I can trust you, I think.”

The answer came out fairly awkward, but Kristoff knew better than to linger on it. It might be just over a night, but Hans seemed to come to trust him. Kristoff was not the insistent type (If he was, then his proposal would not take more than three tries), and simply went along with other people. He shrugged, “Okay.”

Hans fidgeted with a trim of the cloak, “If it would not trouble you, would you mind if I follow you for a while?” He smiled. It was not a happy smile. “Then maybe we could come up with a better solution,” Hans nervously chuckled, “For me, that is. God it sounds selfish. I must apol-”

“It’s alright,” Kristoff quickly cut him off. He did not want to talk, or hear, about selfishness at the moment. “You can follow me. It does sound insane for me but if it’s what you want.” Hans looked at him with apologetic eyes. They made him feel uncomfortable. Kristoff decided to change a subject to a more relevant one, “Have you eaten anything, by the way?”

“Oh! It’s alright, I’m n-”

“So you haven’t.”

“Well... I’m act-”

Kristoff tossed a rather large bread to Hans before the latter was able to finish his sentence. Hans yelped end caught the bread just in time. He eyed Kristoff apologetically, again. Kristoff found himself quickly coming to resent this kind of eyes. He never saw someone so reluctant to accept help. ‘Why can’t you just accept that I would like to help you and not see you dead?’ was what he wanted to say, but he was better than that to do so.

“Don’t-Don’t you mind?”

Kristoff shrugged, “Nope. I have plenty” He did. There was a reason his bag was big. He quickly added, “The walk is long, so do eat.”

He watched the prince slowly nibbled at the bread. A plain sourdough, ideal for long travel such as this. After seeing Hans taking a few more bite, Kristoff felt this weird satisfaction, like he was finally successful in a task. He began eating his own bread. Normally, he would eat the whole bread in a few large bits, sufficiently time-wise, well-suited for his journey. This time however, he felt like he could spare more minutes. Maybe because he had another person to concern, but there was also this odd sense of relaxation that came with not rushing your meal.

Kristoff was absently thinking about what to expect ahead, when he felt a shadow looming over him. He looked up, and saw Hans nervously stood there nervously, arms hugging the bread he got, and his hands holding a bag. Han’s bag, to be exact. Kristoff vaguely recalled recovering it along with the prince. He did not bother to check its content, so he did not know why Hans was standing there with it. A cynical part of him envision Hans taking out a knife and attempting to kill him. Maybe being on his own was not really good for him.

“I realized I have this,” Hans searched for something in the bag, and pulled out a few ugly, orange-brown pieces. “Dried orange. They packed it for me for some reason.” He handed it to Kristoff, “It’s not much, but you have been so kind...”

“Thank you,” Kristoff said simply. He took the pieces of dried orange and packed it in his bag. “I can eat it with bread later, maybe.”

Hans' face lit up. “If you have boiling water, you could make a good tea out of it.” Hans handed Kristoff some more. “I loved it as a child. I hope you do, too.”

Kristoff smelled a piece curiously. It smelled citrusy, with a sharp sweet note. Not something that he would hate, just unfamiliar with. Arendelle was not known for citrus, and lemon was not liberally used. He could appreciate these dried oranges, if given time. “They are interesting. I will keep in mind that it could be made into a cup of tea.”

Hans smiled and looked overall brighter. He bowed (Made Kristoff slightly startled, but he hid that well) and excused himself back to his corner. He sat down and ate the bread with slightly larger bites this time. Kristoff could not help feeling amused. 

“You seemed passionate.”

Hans looked at him, “Pardon?”

“About dried orange. It seems like that to me.”

“Oh.” Hans' face became a little brighter with red, and that was not from cold, “That-I’m-Well, I must admit that it is true.”

“You look a bit happier talking about the orange,” Kristoff told the prince about his observation, “Maybe we can talk about this on our walk. It can get pretty boring, so maybe you could help.”

Hans managed an awkward laugh, “I-Um. Uh… I am glad I could be useful. Somehow.”

Kristoff smiled at him, “That reminds me. We should finish this meal soon.”

* * *

Kristoff did not need to extinguish the fire, as it nearly died completely by the time he was ready. Hans had stopped eating for a while. Kristoff saw him store the bread in his bag, so he leaned more on a presumption that Hans was full, and not because he was still somehow reluctant to accept help. He was sipping on the flask (that Kristoff must refill soon. unless he planned to sustain himself on alcohol which he thought he had packed with him a bit more than necessary). Once Kristoff stood up, Hans took it as a cue to stand up as well. Kristoff found it amusingly odd how the prince seemed to follow his movement, like a nervous child or something. 

The prince silently walked behind Kristoff as he navigated through the forest. Kristoff had not thought of a plan of what to do with him when he had to return to Arendelle, but he did not care about it much.

After an hour or two or walking, the prince seemed to revert to his despondent self. It was not a state that Kristoff would like the prince to dwell on, “Well, about the orange...”

“Huh?” Hans looked up at him.

“The orange. What about it.”

“What about it?”

“Arendelle does not have many oranges. Also I think we should talk about it on our way. Like I said, it can get boring quickly.”

“Do you-Do you want me to do it now?”

Kristoff felt mildly irritated. “Please, if you don’t mind.”

“Of-Of course. Of course I don’t,” Hans stammered. “Well, when I grew up, our castle used to have one in the east yard.”

“Used to?”

“They are really just an experiment project,” Hans said. “We have a minister of agriculture. They report directly to my father about cross breeding plants. Grafting. Improving the specimen.” Things like that.”

“So you have a farmer in your court?”

“Not any farmer, mind you.” Hans' voice was a little sharper, as if to reprimand Kristoff. Hans must be passionate about this topic, really. “They are scientists. They try to find the best specimen that is resilient, and bears plenty of tasty fruits. Then they will distribute it to farmers. That is why we have the best fruits in this part of the world. They are the backbone of our kingdom!”

“Ah,” Kristoff was lost for words. Hans took this thing more seriously than he thought. “ Seems like I must apologize for my poor choice of words.”

He heard Hans huffed and his light chuckle, “Well, you did say I am passionate.”

Hans then went on about his childhood memory of playing in the orange garden, and how he had taken quite an interest in it. He told Kristoff about the time when the project was deemed successful, and was quickly replaced with an apiary. Hans did not let it deter him from learning, and he quickly found himself engrossed in the topic of beekeeping, pollination, and, ultimately, oranges, again..

“To be fair, I had read about other citruses as well,” Hans said. They had been walking for quite a while, and the sun was now almost above their head. The foliaged spared them from the scorching light. How could something be both hot and cold at the same time had long bemused Kristoff. He looked up at those pine leaves, and imagined them as orange tree’s. He had never seen one. Maybe the leaves were fuller and rounder? Maybe the tree was a bit shorter? And it would not have this cold, fresh, chillingly earthy smell? Hans was talking about a fruit called pomelo, and Kristoff listened with amused interest.

“We obtain it from somewhere south. Way, way down south. I very much hope that it will be domesticated. The fruit is mostly tough shell, but their flesh tastes delightful...” Despite having his back to the prince, Kristoff could picture him, smiling, dreamily gazed into a distant memory. “Too bad we were interested in beekeeping at that time, so pomelo became just another exotic fruit.”

“You seemed to spend a lot of time reading about oranges and bees,” Kristoff said, “I mean, it is good. But I did not expect a prince to be so deep into orange study. Is it orange or citrus study? Which one is correct?”

“I do not really think we have a definite term for them,” Hans said. His voice was suddenly gloomier, “And I have all the time to study. They did not particularly care of what I am up to, anyway.”

Kristoff did not know how to reply to that. Hans seemed to realize this sudden drop in mood, and quickly resumed his talk about pomelo. This time, however, Kristoff was only half listening. He felt bad about it, of course, but the curiosity about the prince’s past did gnaw at him again. It would be inevitable that they would be talking about it sooner or later. 

_ ‘They did not particularly care of what I am up to, anyway.’ _

Kristoff grimaced. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am back!  
> Also I went back and edited some chapters. The plot remains largely the same, just the details and some pacing that were changed. Turns out writing before bed begets lots of spelling mistakes.  
> Also the Mandela effect made me remember Grand Pabbie as Uncle Pabbie. That was embarassing!

After many days trekking through the wilderness, Kristoff and Hans had become quite accustomed to each other. Hans had run out of trivial things to talk about for a while, but he was comfortable with just following Kristoff in silence while admiring the winter landscape.

He did not inquire on this much, but he did feel that, despite being fairly acquainted with each other, there were still unspoken secrets. Things better left unsaid, buried under the pretense of peaceful silence. Hans had yet to truly open up, and Kristoff always sternly offered his companion only a few careful words. Apart from answering Hans’ questions regarding botanical trivia, or humoring his curiosities about the landscape, he did not talk much about much else.

But Hans was good at reading people. A skill developed amidst an intense boredom of an overlooked child and the fragile royal society. It was not hard for him to notice that Kristoff was harboring something heavy. Guilts. Frustrations. However subtle they slipped from Kristoff’s solemn facade, they did not go unnoticed by Hans.

Still, it was not his place to ask or attempt to alleviate. He was just a travelling companion to Kristoff. A travelling companion that once attempted to kill Hristoff’s dearest nonetheless.

“How far up north do you plan to go?” Hans asked. According to Kristoff, they were nearing the uncharted region of the northern Arendelle. The air was noticeably colder, and their surrounding had some uncanny qualities that he could not place his finger on. It was unnerving yet oddly welcoming in a way of one’s returning to their familiar home.

Magic was real in Arendelle, after all.

“You don’t want to walk long?” Kristoff replied with a slight playful mocking tone.

“I  _ can  _ walk long, mind you,” Hans returned with the same subtle playfulness. “I just would like to picture the destination. Do you have a place in mind, or a certain object that marks the end of the scope of your cartography journey?”

Kristoff stopped walking. He looked forward to nowhere and went into a contemplative silence. Where were they heading, exactly? He would just walk and walk. He would walk until he missed her. He would walk until he felt nothing. He would walk just so he could breathe easily for once.

“I never really planned how far I would go,” he confessed. Hans was surprised.

“I just want to be far from Arendelle I think.” Kristoff said absently, “Kind of suffocating in there. The castle. Not where I belong I supposed.” 

It was the unexpected venom in his words, and Hans could feel that Kristoff realized that he talked too much. His stance was more rigid, and he walked with too much calculated force. This was not something that Kristoff wanted to talk about, and that is fair.

* * *

They soon enter an iridescent place of frozen canopy. Crystallized droplets encapsulated many tips of the drooping branches, creating glimmering beads that hang from the tree, like wind chimes made of ice. He let his hand run through them, and smiled at their faint jingling sound. Was this yet another uncanny manifestation of the untrekked land? He did not know nor did he care. A winter wonderland, he would call it. At some point, he chose to sit underneath a tree of crystal chimes, smiling as the wind blew gently and made the tree sing. 

“You seemed to like this place,” Kristoff said from somewhere to his left. Hans turned to him, and saw that he was leaning on the same tree, eyes elsewhere. The light refracted, and cast a rosy hue all around them. It must be fairly late in the afternoon. Hans overserved Kristoff, touched by the warm-colored light and much more relaxed. 

“I never saw something as beautiful as this before,” Hans said, almost a whisper. Something about this state of warmth made him feel like it was a fleeting one. So he instead looked at the ground, and how the snow seemed to glisten in this place.

Kristoff did not reply, but from Hans’ stolen glances he seemed to be smiling. Despite the evening fast approaching, there was no sense of urgency from Kristoff. A safety that could only come from someone far too familiar with the land than he let on. Hans admired him for that. He had come to admire a lot of qualities in Kristoff lately. One of it was how hospitable he was to Hans. He did not have to pause. He could even tell Hans to stop resting and follow him already. Still, he chose to not do such things, and instead joined Hans in this impromptu respite. Of course, it could be that Kristoff was tired, but Hans would rather let himself have this harmlessly selfish fantasy, that Kristoff did care for him in his own way.

They stayed like that until the light dimmed. They would have to move soon, but this peacefulness was something Hans would like to cling on to. A reverie he was not ready to break yet. It was more like an indulgent, at this point, and Hans knew that something was certain to go wrong.

“I could just stay here,” Hans whispered. “Can we not go?”

“You will get damp,” Kristoff answered as quietly, “There’s nothing but snow.”

“Why should I worry.” The tree was tingling above him, and he had this overwhelming feeling to just lie down and close his eyes. “They sent me away to die...”

There was a long pause, enough that Hans could comprehend what he had just said over and over. It came out of nowhere, yet Hans somehow anticipated it, This peacefulness, it eventually turned to lethargy, he supposed. Like he was aware of how tiresome his life had been, and how tiresome it would be from now on. 

“You should just leave me here and go,” Hans said, “I do not mind.” He drew his knees close and rested his forehead on them. He should apologize for saying such a morbid thing, but he did not have a willpower to do so. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He should not cry here. It would be a terrible way to ruin the serene beauty around them.

There was a shuffling sound, and a few steps that ended in front of him.

“Come on, it’s getting dark.” Kristoff said, quiet and soft. Hans let one of his hands be guided by the mountain man. Kristoff helped him stand up. Hans felt a gloved hand brushed strands of tears from his face. “Frostbite. Just in case,” was Kristoff’s reasoning. Hans had yet to completely register the ongoing actions, letting Kristoff lead him away from the place, hand firm yet soft around his.

“Thank you.” Hans said, some time after.

* * *

They found a cave to take shelter in for the night. Inside was surprisingly comfortably warm. Despite that, Kristoff still built a small bonfire for light and additional warmth. There was a map to be drawn, and he had been procrastinating on it for some time. 

He should also check his supply, as he was not expecting to have to feed an abandoned man along the journey. Hans might not eat much, but his estimated journey would still be cut shorter by the dwindling food and drink. It was not like he wished to produce a detailed map of a large extent of an unexplored land. He only wanted to stay away from the palace and a certain person there for an extended period of time. The appearance of Hans complicated both his original goal, and there were also many issues that would spring from the prince’s very own presence in this land.

He should be irritated, but he could not care enough about those matters. Somehow, with the prince, he could put his mind to the present, the prince that was there with him, a kindred spirit harboring the baggage of his home. In a way, they were like two tangled yarns afraid to be unravelled and parted.

Kristoff was aware that his tolerance had been growing into some kind of fondness. A twisted kind of fondness, perhaps. Kristoff would equate it to a fondness one would have when they were nurturing a wounded animal, or when they were sheltering a hungry vagrant. It was a fondness tainted with pity, and a deep sense of satisfaction that there was another being with an equal or worse misery than himself. 

Kristoff felt deeply ashamed. Yet another thing on top of his mountain of unspoken guilts and frustrations.

He tried to busy himself with his supposed mission of cartography, but after many attempts he gave up. Kristoff put down his notebook and instead took to observing the prince, who again had his knees drawn to himself and hid his head between them. They had yet to talk about Hans’ sudden morbidness, and Kristoff’s apparent dissatisfaction of his life as a royal consort.

Against his better judgement. Kristoff went to sit next to Hans. “I might need your help with my task,” he said, “I might not be the best at drawing.”

Hans looked down at the notebook, then looked up at him. He was visibly bewildered, but accepted the notebook and the pencil without questions or protest. He gently flipped to an empty page. “You would have to tell me what to draw. I am afraid I cannot remember the entirety of our journey,” Hans said with a small smile. It might not be so, but Kristoff would like to take this as a hint that Hans was somewhat distracted from whatever he was wallowing in. It would be satisfactory to him if true.

And so they went, sitting by the fire and doing their best attempt at recording their journey. Kristoff would give a short but clear description of what and where, and Hans would sometimes give additional tidbits about the local wilderness (He apparently remembered well all the things Kristoff said) and cracked a joke here and there. They had a short dinner break, sharing dry bread and fruit, then quickly resumed their documenting. It was somehow more relaxing and entertaining than Kristoff had thought, and he would admit to himself that he enjoyed every bit of this moment.

It must be very late into the night. Hans had been murmuring instead of speaking clearly for a while, and his yawn was more and more frequent. Then, without warning, Hans leaned his head on Kristoff’s shoulder. The latter suddenly froze, while the former was apparently unaware as he was more sleepy for every passing minute.

“I’m sorry for what I said back there,” Hans’ voice was barely above that of a whisper, “We were enjoying such a beautiful thing, and I had to ruin it.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Kristoff said, matching Hans in volume. He pointedly tried not to look to his left, nor acknowledge the weight that increasingly pressed onto him.

“I do,” Hans said, voice distant, “I wish we could talk, though. Talk. Yes.”

Kristoff did not answer, but he shifted a bit so that Hans could lean onto him a bit more comfortably. He told himself that he did it unconsciously.

“I wish we could talk about everything. Leave them in the forest. Leave them in a cave. Leave them by the river.” Hans continued, “Whatever. I just want us to put it out there, and maybe we could move on from it, you know?”

“...You must be very tired,” Kristoff said weakly.

Hans ignored him. “What was the point of keeping it to ourselves. To yourself,” he said with a slight shake in his voice, “You knew of my trials and tribulations, and yet… and yet…”

The prince went quiet. He put his arms around himself as if to seek warmth, “You have been so kind to me… If only I could… If you would let me...”

Kristoff could feel a shifting weight on his shoulder, possibly it was Hans attempting to turn away from him. “Am I that useless? Untrustworthy? Please...” He trailed off. The words came out like a soft breath from the prince’s mouth, but Kristoff could hear every word, and feel every bit of hurt in the hushed voice.

It took a while, but Kristoff finally noticed that Hans fell asleep on his shoulder. He found himself contemplating putting his arm around the prince, and maybe reassured that no, he was not useless or untrustworthy. Kristoff quickly snapped himself out of the thought. After blaming his drowsiness, he gently laid Hans down to the ground. Kristoff quietly went to fetch a rag from his bag and folded it into a makeshift pillow and carefully put it underneath Hans’ head, trying not to disturb his sleep. The prince did not shift even once. He must indeed be very tired. 

Kristoff watched the small rise and fall of Hans’ chest, wondering whether the prince could remember all the things he said once the morning came.

* * *

Kristoff did not know when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, it was still fairly dark outside. Hans was nowhere to be found. This made him jolted up, fully awake. Before the dread and panic kicked in, Hans appeared in his peripheral view, seemingly running back from the deeper somewhere. He looked extremely apologetic.

“You are awake,” the prince said dumbly. 

“What-Where have you-” Kristoff snarled, “Are you stupid! You could get lost!”

“I know! I am terribly sorry!” Hans raised his hand, apologetic, “It was a very stupid thing to do.”

Kristoff was ready to reprimand the prince some more. The anger stemmed from worry more than anything. Why would he be this worried about Hans, he did not want to dwell on it. It was just-Hans was under his ward, was he not? It was just a simple fear of failure, and nothing more.

Was it not?

“There was this blue glow,” Hans suddenly explained, “And-And a distant sound. They beckoned. They made me feel like I have to go to see them. I-I don’t know. I thought I would go not too far. It was like a dream...”

“What?” Kristoff said. His anger quickly evaporated, as he was more confused.

“I thought it was a dream,” Hans said, as confused as him, “You know, like you are sleepwalking? But then, somehow I became aware and...,” he slowly crouched down, “Oh dear god. I was so scared. I ran back here and you were awake and-and...”

Kristoff went to him. He put his hand on Hans’ shoulder. The prince quickly wrapped his hand around Kristoff’s wrist. He was shaking. “Calm down. Just… take a deep breath,” Kristoff said, rubbing his hand on Hans’ shoulder. The dreamlike state. The blue glow. The distant sound. All of these, and the frozen forest of uncanny beauty, they could potentially mean one thing.

They had entered the magical realm. The land that belonged to the mystical beings. Somewhere not unlike the Enchanted Forest. Somewhere that reality could be twisted by the whims of the land itself.

Normally, they would not be that dangerous unless you had angered the land in some way (and as far as he knew, this region was undisturbed by humans since eternity ago), but if you were weak-willed, the magic could sway you to follow its primordial flow. Grand Pabbie taught him that he could be angry, that he could cry, but he must not give up your strength to continue forward, lest your heart be swept away by the tide of magic, and your soul probably lost, forever.

That, or if you were naturally resonant to the magic and it sought to reclaim you. That seemed unlikely.

“It is probably magic,” Kristoff said calmly, “Arendelle is rich with magic and nature spirits. You’re probably swayed by one.”

“What-I don’t-What? How?” Hans stuttered, ever more fearful. Kristoff should see this coming. Magic was not something easily comprehensible. Unless you were raised among it, it would be seen as the volatile force, malevolent or otherwise.

“It must be fairly strong magic. They can lull and lead you,” Kristoff explained, “When you are very tired, or when you are between waking up and sleeping, your mind is at its weakest, and it can take hold on you,” he lied. He should just tell Hans that magic had better grip on someone mentally weak and exhausted, but he did not think it would bring Hans any more comfort. If anything, Hans would probably be more scared. “I know you are aware of magic, but not the extent of its forms and powers” Kristoff said softly.

Hans’ trembling slowly lessened, and finally stopped. The prince took a deep, shaky breath. He released his grip on Kristoff’s wrist and rubbed his eyes. Slowly, he shifted from crouching to sitting. Kristoff still rubbed his hand on Hans’ shoulder, not exactly sure if he should let go yet.

“I’m here,” Kristoff said firmly. Hans looked at him, more tired than scared.

“Will it be like this, all the way? Until we leave?” Hans asked. 

“I can’t tell, but I will do my best not to let it hurt you.”

Hans looked down, contemplative. “If there is nothing to hold me still, then I can just wander off like this, again?”

There was a certain implication in what he just said. It was not certain if this was something the prince uttered from his sudden, unconscious want of protection, or was it a desire he had been harboring that surfaced in a moment of sincere fear. Kristoff felt heat creeping up the back of his neck, “I will see what I can do.”


End file.
